Sharing
by truglasgowgal
Summary: He's with family. He couldn’t ask for better company at Christmas. CB, a touch of NS, NJBC and Eric. Series of Christmas-inspired one-shots.
1. Christmas Company

Hi there!  
So, this jus came to me last night, an I figured I'd post it 'cos why not? Plus it's the first 'happy' thing I seem to have been able to write lately, so it has to be posted if only to fit the season ;)

Hope you enjoy…

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**Title:** Sharing  
**Disclaimer:** I only own the characters you don't recognise.  
**Summary:** Because Chuck Bass was never meant to be tied to just one person.

"_Three keys to more abundant living: caring about others, daring for others, sharing with others."_  
_**William Arthur Ward**_

.

Nate's always been a boys'-boy, so it makes sense that with age he has become a mans'-man.

It also makes sense that he has shacked up with Serena – given her tendency to fancy a liking to more than one boy at once.

Blair has always been a one-man kind of woman – until she met Chuck. Then she became torn between the two boys in her life.

And the only time Chuck was content with one girl was when he was with Blair. They might've been in love, but no one really expected her to stay the exception for long.

And they were right – about everything.

.

Nate and Serena have Ethan and Colt between them. And while Blair splits herself between Theodore (_Teddy_) and Chuck, he juggles his life around her, Cosette (_Etty_), Elspeth and Katalina (_Kitty Kat Kat_).

His are all brown-haired and brown-eyed, and he doesn't even waste the thought contemplating his involvement in their perfection – they're all their mother. Ok, so maybe they have a little of him inside them – he is their father after all.

He thinks his sister secretly enjoys being outnumbered in her own home. It means she can quilt-trip her best friend (_sister-in-law_) into involving her in the girls' lives more than she already is. Plus, she gets pampered like only his wife does (possibly a little less – he is Chuck Bass after all) when Mother's Day comes around, not to mention on her birthday.

And he _knows _his best friend loves having the boys as his own little sports fanatics. Nate's always been his brother, but it's a testament to just how good a friend he is, just how good his heart is; that when he congratulates his nephew on the _Man of the Match_ status that his own son missed out on, he genuinely means it, and everyone knows it.

("Theo did well to score that."  
"He's a Bass, Nathaniel – when we aim for something, we don't miss."  
"I thought you were going to say something stupid like, _Bass men always score._"  
"Please, brother, we're at a soccer game for seven-year-olds, keep the vulgar chatter for your bedroom."  
He was smirking when his best friend (_brother-in-law_) tried to nudge him over, but failed; ending up grinning widely instead.)

His wife idolizes his family. It'd sound strange for anyone else, but Chuck knows he does too. He won't deny it, wouldn't ever try to change – because, really, he couldn't love them more.

Theodore, Theo, _Teddy_: his little man. His wife says he's just like him and he grins impishly up at the elder, who simply smirks and ruffles his hair. Seven-years-old already and Chuck wishes he could stop time just so he could witness every moment of his youngest child's life before it passes them all by in a precious whisper of gold and stardust.

Katalina is how he remembers all his daughters to be at age nine. So impossibly innocent and loving, but without quite the level of sass they seem to have acquired over the years. She's her mother's darling angel – and why wouldn't she be? All she wants to do is model her mother's clothes and fill the elder with compliments about shades and cuts and intricate details that all but the two of them seem to have overlooked. They make quite the pair.

As do his two eldest.

At fourteen, Cosette is one year older than her sister; but she still cried harder than Elspeth the first morning they were apart for school. When he took Elspeth by Constance at lunchtime that day, Cosette flew down the Met steps and flung her arms around her sister. They proceeded to spend the rest of the hour chatting animatedly, while he waited nearby; got ticketed three times, near clamped, and the girls hierarchy at his eldest daughter's school was called into serious question after the Freshman's casual abandonment of the _Queen_ and her _Ladies-in-Waiting_ without so much as a backward glance or fleeting apology.

He let Elspeth stay home for the rest of the day and when Cosette returned, she told him that Lorena 'Lori' Adams ("this random Junior who thinks that just because she can tell everyone else how to dress, it means that _I _will actually look to _her_ for fashion advice. Ew – no. Her mother may have married up when she was five, but she's still from Brooklyn.") had asked her to oversee the themed party she was hosting that week.

The bills were scattered across the side-table beside him, when he saw his eldest daughter consult her sister about her thoughts on the matter and then watched as they called over their younger siblings for advice – one for fashion, the other for the 'cool-factor' (his words). His eyes settled on his wife's smiling face as she watched their children interact, their voices loud and cheerful; and his lips fell easily into a smile of their own.

Idolization indeed.

-

Music guilds to the parameters of the voices that surround him, and he sits in the armchair next to his wife, his fingers dangling languidly along the back of the sofa to rest across her shoulder. Her eyes are on their children: delighting in the holiday spirit. Their excited chatter resounds off the walls, their brimming smiles and sparkling eyes staring back up at him as they tear the wrapping from their presents, twirling ribbon around one another and sticking bows on each other.

The sound of footsteps draws nearer and he watches as two young blond boys scamper over to join the circle his children have made, his sister walking directly towards his wife and taking a seat next to her on the couch, and his brother taking up position in the armchair next to him. A moment later Dorota enters and tells him Eric is on the phone, and his children turn eagerly at the news.

His eyes are glassy as he takes in the scene before him, his ears picking up on their every sound. His heart swells; too big for his chest, he drags air into his lungs and breathes it all in.

There was a time when he only used to care about three things. Now all he cares about is his family.

And he couldn't ask for better company at Christmas.

_**  
The End.**_

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A/N: The characters' names took me so long to decide on and even though I only described them in their barest minimum, they sort of tugged at the old heartstrings – so this might be the introduction to a few one-shots ;)

Not my best, but I hope you liked it all the same – and it would mean a lot to me if you told me what you thought.

Thanks so much for reading.  
Steph  
xxx


	2. Christmas Stories

A/N: This takes place the year before the previous chapter.

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Have You Heard This One? It's My Favorite Christmas Bedtime Story

.

"The purple one, Daddy," his youngest daughter's voice instructs, so like her mother a smile flitters across his lips as his hand moves to accommodate her choice.

He lifts the collar of his crisp white shirt and loops the tie around his neck, redoing the button as he pushes the knot into place. She's watching his every move and it amuses him, tugs at his heartstrings really, because _she cares enough to want to notice._

Her hands are resting on her thighs as she leans forward, eager to see the result that occurs due to her involvement. She raises herself up when he's nearly completed the maneuver, and he knows he has her enraptured when she doesn't even reach down to pull up one of her cream knee-highs that's fallen down with the quick rush of movement. And quite frankly it's such an adorable sight; he doesn't want to break the spell. There she is, his little girl: sitting up on his bed in her gorgeous _vintage cream_ cardigan, with her turtleneck of _exactly _the same shade peeking through, eagerly waiting for him to finish; her eyes watching his every move, sparkling brighter than the snowflake design on her woolen top.

"Better?" he finally asks, hands outstretched for Katalina's approval and watches her nod excitedly, face alight with pride.

His wife appears before him then, wordlessly reaching up and taking the tie in her hands; letting the silk fall through her fingers as she smoothes out any creases before running her hands over the lapel of his jacket and leaving him with perfection.

"Much," Blair tells him, smiling as she gives him an appreciative once-over.

"Wonderful choice my little Kitty Kat," she says to her daughter, and moves over to where the girl has fallen back into a seated position on their bed.

Katalina beams at her mother and the elder runs an affectionate hand over her daughter's hair as it runs down past her shoulder.

"And now that your father is ready, hop off my bedspread and go and call your sisters?" Blair requests.

Their eight-year-old bounds from the bed, giving her mother a slightly sheepish look before scampering away to find her older siblings; the ruffles of her cream and black skirt flouncing around her with every step her black ballet flats take.

They watch her go, and then he turns to his wife with an amused smirk and queries, "She's not to call her brother?"

"No," she replies, giving him a smug look in return, turning him by the shoulders and steering him towards the door. "That would be your job."

.

He knocks gently on the door to his son's bedroom as the little boy looks up from his book. He steps inside and his son returns his gaze to the pages before him; legs crossed high in the air at the ankles as he lies on his stomach on top of his bed.

He sits on the edge, leans over towards his son and is met with a dark gaze as he tries to scan some of the lines.

"That's the book I always read to you on Christmas Eve before you go to sleep," he says, head tilted to look at his son fully. "Why are you reading it now?"

"I might as well," Teddy answers him petulantly, crosses his arms in front of him so the reindeers on his woolen jumper are obscured from the elder's view. "It's not like you're going to be here to do it."

He releases a breath, and moves further onto the bed, swipes the book from under his son's nose and lies back until he is resting against the intrinsically designed headboard, pillows plush beneath him.

"What are you doing?" is his son's demand, as he pushes himself up onto his knees with his elbows, the soft chime of the wooden toggles at his neck knocking together with the sudden movement.

"Well, if you're Hell bent on ruining the tradition before you've even given me a chance, we might as well read it now, mightn't we?" he returns with a smile.

Teddy leaps over to him, a grin instantly brightening his features as he snuggles into his father's side.

"You said a bad word," the young boy teases. "Mom'll be mad."

"Not if _someone_ doesn't tell her, she won't," he counters, voice just as amused.

Teddy shakes his head, still smiling, as he nestles in closer to him, settling in for the Christmas story. "Doesn't matter, she always knows. Mom knows everything."

There's slight amazement in his son's voice and it makes him chuckle.

"Oh, I know," he agrees with a knowing smirk.

"I like your jumper by the way," he compliments a moment later, and catches sight of his son turning his head up to look at him, the flash of fabulous red of the shirt the boy wears underneath making his lips curve just that bit more. "You've got a great ensemble going on, the jumper looks good with it."

"It's the one you bought for me on your last business trip to England," Teddy tells him, a rueful quirk to his lips as his hand lifts and his fingers tug lightly at the front of the sweater.

The boy's gaze lifts and he meets the identical dark eyes of his father as the elder watches him.

He smiles, eyes never leaving his son, and softly reiterates, "I know."

-

When he returns, having pushed several of his meetings forward in order to be able to fly out within a matter of hours of the last one, the sight that greets him on his return is enough to tell him it was all worth it.

He leans against the doorframe, exhaustion seeping through to his bones, his eyes threatening to slide shut, and he smiles.

His wife is asleep in the center of their bed, as beautiful as he has ever seen her; and tucked neatly in on either side of her are their children.

They look as content and peaceful as he's ever witnessed them, and he marvels at it; at this world he is such an intricate part of.

He toes off his shoes and quietly drops his jacket onto the chair along with his tie, picking up the book that lies open on top of the bedspread and placing it on the side-table. Then he gently lifts back the cover and slides into bed.

His son turns at the movement and blinks sleepily up at him, before wrapping his arms around his father's frame and resting his head neatly against the elder's chest, falling asleep to the steady rhythm of his father's heart.

"Goodnight my little prince," he murmurs against his son's temple and places a kiss there.

His head sinks further into the pillow and he meets his wife's tired gaze as she looks across at him and smiles. His lips curve upwards, and his hand finds hers in the darkness; their fingers entwining as her eyelids flutter shut with her whisper of, "Welcome home, my love."

The antique clock on his wife's vanity reads one minute past midnight, and as he falls asleep with his family around him; he doesn't think he could've asked for a better Christmas present.

_**  
TBC?**_

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Who am I kidding, I'll probably write at least one more – I hope, they are such fun to write. It might focus more on the girls in that one jus to even it out a bit, but I make no promises ;)

Hope you liked it and please let me know what you thought – it means so much to me!  
Steph  
xxx


	3. Christmas Spirit

Can You Feel the Christmas Spirit?

His wife is holding onto their daughters' hands as they skip gleefully alongside the elder. He's smiling as he pushes the pram behind them, constantly shifting his gaze from one incredible image to the other.

Cosette and Elspeth are tugging at their mother's arms, dragging her towards another store window, magnificently lit up in the appropriate Christmas fashion. And naturally, their daughters must appraise it with the respect and awe it so deserves.

He dutifully follows them and listens as their little girls chatter excitedly about everything their eyes land upon; Blair's smile reflecting back at him in the glass.

When they finally start moving again, his wife has taken over the helm of pushing their youngest, while he has Elspeth balanced against his side and Cosette holds his free hand by his other. She's bounding along next to him, while she and her sister continue to jump their attention from sight to sight, their little arms stretching out to point to each and every thing that takes their fancy.

He chuckles, "Honestly girls, anyone would think you'd never been in Paris before."

"Yes, but we've never been at Christmas, Daddy!" his eldest tells him, as if that explains everything.

His wife's amused face catches his eye, her raised eyebrow telling him without words that their daughter has a point. He smiles down at Cosette indulgingly and allows her to continue her relentless leaping along the Avenue; because honestly, who does he think he is to stand in the way of his daughter's happiness?

They spend what must be hours touring the city, taking in the sights – because they really are just that different during this holiday season – and eventually they make it to Notre Dame well in time for Midnight Mass (his wife's idea). His daughters are enamored for as long as the sights and sounds prevent their eyes from drooping, staying silent throughout like the well-mannered children they are, and he's so beyond proud of them. He's always proud of them.

.

They travel through the night to Harold and Roman's chateau, their youngest strapped into her baby seat across from them; her sleeping face as content as those of her sisters'. His wife snuggles into his side, their fingers are entwined and her head rests on his shoulder as her eyes slide shut.

When they pull up the drive, both men greet them at the door, and while the driver attends to their baggage; his father-in-law un-straps his baby daughter and hands her to Roman. Harold moves as if to wake Blair, but he stops the elder, telling the man to let her sleep and that he will return in a few moments to carry her inside himself.

He has his daughters in his arms, their little heads resting on his shoulders, arms splayed across his back, as he takes them through the open doorway of their grandfathers' home. He sits them both down on the couch, side-by-side, knowing they will awaken in a few moments, having begun to rouse already on the journey up the stairs, and _insist_ on putting up their stockings themselves as per their tradition.

When Roman enters, he shares a smile with the Frenchman as the elder looks across to see the two sleeping girls. He drops a kiss to Katalina's head, being cradled safely by her grandfather, before he goes to get her mother.

By the time he has carried his wife to their bed, their two eldest are in their pajamas and standing outside their parents' door, tentatively pushing the door open to peak inside.

"Come on, you two," he invites them in with a grin and a shake of the head, holding the door open for them to enter. "Say goodnight to Mommy."

There is so much devotion shining from their eyes as they duck under his arm and as quickly, but as quietly as they can, scuttle over to the edge of the bed. When they try and fail, in the most endearing fashion he thinks possible, to raise themselves up on their tiptoes to bid their mother a kiss goodnight; he approaches with a soft laugh and wraps an arm around each of them, lifting them up so they can whisper their goodnight kisses.

He tucks his wife in as their daughters watch, their little arms lifting to their faces and bestowing an, _"Aww, Daddy!"_ upon him when he turns back to face them. He good=-naturedly rolls his eyes at the pair and then ushers them out of the bedroom, closing the door softly.

Katalina is still sleeping soundly in her grandfather's arms when he returns with his two eldest daughters, who bound into the room with a newfound energy, and immediately bombard Roman and Harold with questions about the French traditions associated with Father Christmas and their own Christmas customs.

The pair scamper away to retrieve their shoes, coming back moments later to place them neatly beside the fireplace; looking to their grandfathers for approval, which they immediately receive.

When their stockings are hung, their envelopes with their letters to Father Christmas are placed neatly atop the mantle (the original having been sent to Father Christmas's home many _many_ days prior, of course, weeks even; this is simply a helpful _reminder_). And after the customs generally carried out at home in New York are all fulfilled, he is finally able to convince his daughters to go to bed, although they insist on accompanying him to their baby sister's room first.

He sits on the armchair between the twin beds and reads them the Christmas story that he and his wife had personalized especially for them; they revel in it as they always do and fall asleep with excitement still lighting up their faces.

He tucks them both in, kisses them tenderly along their hairline, and takes a deep breath as he closes the door; he knows it'll only be a few short hours before they're awake once more.

He thanks his fathers-in-law when he finds they have already stocked their granddaughters' stockings for the next morning and bids them goodnight, trudging along the corridor and finally climbing into bed next to his wife.

She turns in her sleep and seeks him out, and he wraps his arms around her, drawing her close and breathing in her scent. It never fails to amaze him how well she fits in his arms; their daughters are the same. She gave him that.

-

He is awoken, as predicted, by their two eldest daughters clambering onto their bed and whispering the blame associated with _shhh! _onto one another. At this point Blair rouses, meeting his gaze a beat before her own arms reach out and grab Elspeth round the middle, tugging the four-year-old in close to her as he mimics the action with their five-year-old. The girls squeal as their parents tickle them, and as if on cue, their baby sister begins to cry out for them as well.

His wife fits the pair with a look and tells them it's all their fault and that they'll be on babysitting duty if their sister is cranky from lack of sleep. They have the grace to momentarily give their mother a sheepish look, before the smiles split their cheeks apart and they are giggling again, lifting their hands to their mouths to muffle the sound as his wife turns and sends them a mock stern look.

"You're on babysitting duty now for Daddy," Blair tells them with a mischievous smile. "Make sure he gets to the living room soon or there won't be any gift-opening."

Then she winks at him above their heads as she says sweetly, "Be good for your daughters now, dear."

And instantly they pounce on him.

.

His wife is nursing Katalina when Cosette and Elspeth eventually drag – literally _drag_ – him into the room. She smiles lovingly at the three of them and then pats the space beside her on the couch for him to sit down next to her; which he does, arching his back before settling in against the plush cushions, crossing his leg over so his ankle rests on his opposite knee, and stretching his arm along the length of the back of the sofa, fingers teasing the bare skin on his wife's shoulder.

The girls dash straight over to the fireplace to find their letters read with a responding note lying next to them that delivers in a flurry of large swoops and swirls:

_I hope these gifts are to your taste._

_Have a very Merry Christmas!_

_Love,_

_Father Christmas_

_xxx_

Their heads turn in perfect sync, both sets of hands clutching the card, and they raise their legs to jump excitedly in time with their squeals. He's not entirely sure what they're saying, but he catches words here and there and deduces that their _slightly_ overzealous display of joy is most likely due to the confirmed notion that Father Christmas can, in fact, find them anywhere in the world and distribute their presents just the same.

He's grateful that Harold is recording it all, because the moment passes all too quickly. Before he knows it his wife is nestled into his side; his arm hugging her close, fingers softly brushing Katalina's hair as she lies in her mother's arms, and the girls have opened all of their presents in an explosion of color and sound; the aftermath of which seems to settle all too quickly.

Of course, it's not even double figures yet, and they've still got Christmas Dinner to get through with his other in-laws. That's always a delight.

-

Eric arrives in a surprise visit before Eleanor and Cyrus, so naturally the children are bouncing off the walls when their grandparents walk through the door to greet them with pleasantries.

Cyrus merely chuckles at the sight of the girls dressing their Uncle up for their own – and their parents' – amusement. And once Eleanor gets over the initial eye-roll and brief look of disapproval, she steps forward to join her granddaughters, telling them that if they really want Eric to look fabulous then they need to do _this!_ and _this! _and _this! _And of course, their mother should have told them this already.

Blair's wit has always been on top form, and age has done nothing but sharpen it, and so she responds with a droll line that has his lips twisting up into a proud smirk and her mother rolling her eyes again. Even Cyrus cracks a smile.

It's a strange, but wonderful occasion in that his father-in-law shares a bit of his own beliefs with the rest of them; and they are all as one together. They are all family.

When Serena and Nate call in the middle of it all – _just to wish everyone Happy Holidays_ – it really does feel like the whole family is together.

He can't wait till next year when Serena has a sprog of her own to contend with and he will be able to taunt Nathaniel about his worrying routine surrounding the child and its mother.

_That _will be an interesting Christmas.

-

Boxing Day finds them at Disneyland Paris. Of course. They are the parents to little girls, after all, who want nothing more than to peruse the delights of this enchanted world and witness the Magic Kingdom for themselves (rather than Aunt Serena simply telling them all about it) and visit Cinderella castle _and and and…_

The _grandparents_ are more than happy to spend the day looking after Katalina; though he thinks they might return to World War Three having broken out over the distribution of child-caring duties and the times spent with her. He demands Eric stay and ensure his baby girl doesn't endure any permanent damage – to her hearing or _anything_ – because of her grandparents' continuous inability to come to an agreement and learn to _share_.

His wife finds it all rather amusing; apparently they don't even fight over her like this.

(He finds that hard to believe).

.

When the girls are suitably exhausted and their driver has been sent for no less than ten times to collect various outfits and gifts and _novelty items_ that the girls simply _had to have, Daddy_; he and his wife walk out of the park hand-in-hand, with their daughters asleep against their shoulders, hearts beating in sync with their own.

They return to a silent house, which is more worrying than the screaming being heard the length of the driveway, and find all four of their children's grandparents asleep on the sofas in the living room. Eric sits in the middle, alone on the centre couch, smiling down at the little girl in his arms.

Blair snaps a photo and his brother's head turns up to look at them. He lifts up a little electronic of his own and takes a picture of the two of them with Cosette and Elspeth; tilting his head to the side, a smirk lining his lips, as if to say _touché_.

He doesn't care; he'd gladly have his brother take a picture every minute, every second, every _nanosecond_, if it meant he got to look at his family and see them happy, content.

Eric appears to know what he's thinking; his eyes hold that softer edge that seems to only appear when the two brothers are sharing a moment.

He's glad. Glad there's a moment to share between them. Glad the moment surrounds their family.

Glad he has a family as wonderful as his to share Christmas with.

He thinks it might be turning into his favorite time of year.

_****_

TBC?

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Thanks so much for reading, and please let me know what you think – or if you have any requests/ideas for future parts – it means so much to me!  
Steph  
xxx


	4. Christmas Hospitality

A/N: Warning = there's angst in this one, because apparently I'm unable to write anything lately without at least a little angst in it - on the plus side, it is considerably longer than the other parts ;)

* * *

Chapter Six: Christmas Hospitality, I'm Not A Fan Of Yours

He thinks he could hate this day.

Christmas Eve.

Christmas Day.

Whatever it is now.

It really wouldn't be very difficult.

And they wouldn't be able to blame him.

Not for hating it.

They could blame him for this, though.

They could blame him for the death of his son.

-

His wife and sister are off perusing the stores in Western Europe on a 'girls weekend', not due to return till later that day; well in time to partake in their children's Christmas traditions and tuck them in for the night before Father Christmas comes to call.

He can hear his three girls playing in the living room, each voice distinct and equally lyrical to his ears. The delighted shouts of his son flitter in and out of earshot accompanied by those of his two young nephews. He imagines that, while the girls are performing some seasonal fashion show or other quite contentedly nearby, his brother (-in-law) is chasing the trio of terrors around the house. He smiles at this; Teddy's always manages to outrun his Uncle Nate.

The phone is pressed to his ear as he prepares to bid goodbye to his brother, wishing him a Merry Christmas and the hope that he _enjoys the day with his lover_. Eric's laughter rings in his ears before his final farewell and his eyes freeze on the scene before him, his ear piqued to the sounds that greet him; and it all plays out in front of him like a slow-motion tragedy.

"_Teddy!"_

"_Theo! No!"_

-

The crash is deafening.

The glass shatters on impact as his son's tiny body propels through the door pane; flying through the air to collapse on the marble floor beneath, held aloft on a red river of cracked ice.

He doesn't even register the phone falling to the carpet below, doesn't feel his hand grasp the handle of the door, doesn't acknowledge his feet as they clatter across the floor towards where his son lies motionless.

The soles of his expensive Italian shoes slip on the stone beneath, slick with the blood that spills across it. His son's blood.

He drops to his knees and immediately reaches out for his little boy, chokes on his name as he turns him over to reveal his blood-soaked torso, his chalk-white face splattered with blood, dark hair mattered to his forehead with blood that's still wet to the touch.

So much blood.

Too much blood.

_His son's blood._

There's a large, deep slash in his son's neck, the jagged piece of glass responsible lying discarded among the rest of the crimson-drenched shards that contributed to its original makeup.

He plugs his fingers in the gaping hole, tries not to think about the torrent of red that's spurting from his little boy's jugular and running down his hand like water over oil.

"Call an ambulance!" he shouts, hauling his little boy close in towards him with his free hand.

His head swivels round to see his best friend staring wide-eyed as he cradles the limp body of his son in his arms.

"Nathaniel! Call a fucking ambulance!" he cries out, desperation straining his words.

The nanny comes streaming through, in perfect time with his daughters; and that's when the hysteria really begins.

"Daddy?" they question.

"Teddy!" they sob.

"Lia," he growls, "Get the girls out of here."

They're verging on frantic and as his eldest daughter kneels down next to him, her hands stretching out in a movement that shows her desperation to help him, to ensure her little brother has all the aid he needs; he realizes the immediate necessity to remove them from the scene.

"Now," he adds firmly, and the woman instantly scampers into action.

The blonde turns his daughters away from the horrific sight of their brother lying in a pool of his own blood, making sure to usher his nephews away as well.

"Nathaniel," he grits out. "I don't care if you have to go to Bass and get the helicopter, get my son to a damn hospital."

"Daddy," his little boy croaks, but he's choking on his own blood, spitting out red where he should be breathing easily.

His tiny hand fists the material of his shirt, and he envelopes his son's hand in his until his boy's grip slackens. There's a handprint on his white shirt, on the place above his heart, and it's stained with his son's blood.

He cups his son's head in the palm of his hand, pulls him closer into his chest so he can concentrate on the sound of his father's beating heart; all the while keeping his other hand pressed firmly against the open wound in his little boy's neck.

"You're going to be okay, Teddy," he tells his son, determination schooling his words. "Daddy's going to get you help. You're going to be just fine."

He wills his son to believe him, wills the words to permeate his brain as strongly as his heart needs it to be true.

Teddy's eyes begin to loll and he calls out his son's name, and when his little boy's eyes suddenly snap wide and catch onto his own, he coughs; coughs until he spits blood all over his father's shirt and stains his whole chest red.

Mere moments later his son is being loaded onto the stretcher, not a moment too soon he thinks, and he's holding Teddy's hand. Doesn't want to let go. Not ever.

-

His wife rushes into the hospital corridor demanding answers quicker than her feet can carry her towards them.

"Where is he?" she questions, looking to his brother. "Where's my son?"

"Blair," his best friend, his _brother_, steps forward with his hands raised, arms outstretched towards her.

But it's too late; she's already seen him. Seen their little boy lying ashen-faced on the hospital bed that drowns his tiny frame. Swathed in bandages and covered with tubes, he's hooked up to machines that record his will to live for them all to lay witness.

She's on him before he can do anything about it.

"Where were you?" she cries out, her hands forming fists that batter against the man's chest. "Why weren't you watching him? Why do you always have to chase him around? Why can't you just sit with him, just once?"

"Blair," it is his younger brother that speaks then. "Blair."

She allows him to pulls her off his brother-in-law and she takes a step back; tears streak down her cheeks in a torrent of black that could rival the red their son was bleeding out from every slice that marred his perfect skin.

He turns then, her gaze landing on his in a second; he barely has a chance to push his hands off the ledge and move away from the window where he is watching their son, before she is in his arms.

She's crying into his shoulder, her arms looped around his neck, and he holds tight to her embrace because he needs her; needs to feel her close, needs to feel her strength permeate through her skin to his. And as she begins to sag slightly against him, he knows she needs him too.

When she pulls back, her hands fall to his chest, while his remain linked near the base of her spine to keep her steady. Her palms run over the hard planes of his chest, and he realizes what she is staring at; Teddy's blood is splattered across his whole front.

She raises a hand to her mouth, a sob catching in her throat, the fingers of her other hand clawing into the skin of his shoulder to keep her steady; to share in her pain, even though she only had to glance at him as he watched over their son to realize how much agony is currently reeling through his bones.

"I'll take it off," he says to her, maneuvering himself to do just that. "I'll get rid of it."

She shakes her head, removes her hand from her mouth to tell him, "No."

"No," she repeats, and even though her voice cracks over the words, her knows she means them. "It's a part of him, it's a part of our little boy. Leave it on."

And so he nods, and moves his arm to encircle her once again.

Her head falls against his chest, her ear pressed in close to the sound of his beating heart, her fingertips resting on the blood of their son as she feels his pump through his veins.

"Take me to him," his wife says, still positioned impossibly near to his body. "I need to see him."

He steers her towards the door of their son's room, pushes it open for her, and steps inside with her; all the while holding her as close as she is as she clutches onto him.

"Oh, my little boy," she gasps when her eyes take in the sight of their son. "My darling little boy."

It's the most heartbreaking thing he has ever had to witness, and he'll curse himself to the end of his dying days for putting her through it.

She reaches back and catches his hand; she doesn't even wait for his fingers to fully interlace with her own before she pulls him over beside her to keep vigil over their baby boy, together.

-

His sister dashes in, a whirlwind of blonde hair and falling tears.

"Is he okay?" she asks hurriedly, looking to her husband for answers to questions he caused.

He had heard his brother on the phone previously, vaguely aware of Eric's presence and the fact that he hadn't been with them at the apartment. The younger had been telling their sister what had happened: _Teddy hurt… at the hospital with Chuck and Nate… Doesn't look good… lost a lot of blood… girls are at home with Lia… Ethan and Colt with them… Nate was supposed to be watching them… Teddy went through the pane in the door… I'm not sure; I think they were playing tag… Just get here, Serena. Quickly._

"Nate," she breathes out then, placing her hands on either side of his face, causing him to look right into his eyes. "What happened?"

"We were – " he tries to avert his gaze, voice seems so far away; but his sister can be as determined as any of them when she wants something, and she stands firm, waiting for him to answer. "We were playing tag. Teddy was ahead, as usual. And I was running after them, and it was fine, and they were laughing, and having fun, and then – "

He watches as his best friend twists his head round to face his wife, eyes glassy, face contorted.

And he chokes on the words that fall from Nate's lips, "And then Teddy turned round to look at me – he was still laughing, that smile, it lit up his whole face. I tried to call out to him, to stop him; the boys did too. But it was too late."

His hand is in a fist, pressed hard against his mouth to try and stop the bile that is rising from the base of his throat.

"He went through the glass pane in the door at the end of the hall. Straight through it, Serena," he tells his wife, his tone that of sheer horror. "It was so loud, and he looked so surprised. And then all you could see was the blood. Everywhere."

He can't listen anymore, grinds the heels of his palms into the sockets of his eyes, but can't fight the images that lie there. Can't stop his mind from working, the cogs from turning, that question question _question_ of how they could go from sitting by the fire, playing before the Christmas tree, excitedly scribbling their letters to Father Christmas to blood and screams and helpless cries; to shattered glass and broken dreams and helpless eyes.

His hands fall from his face, slam against the wall before him, and he slowly turns at the sound of his name. And then he turns on his heel and storms away, needing to breathe in air that isn't saturated with his son's blood.

-

When he next sees his sister, she is standing in the doorway of his son's hospital room asking him if there's anything he needs.

I need my son to wake up, he thinks.

I need for him to be anywhere, but here.

I need for him to be at home, with his family, enjoying his Christmas like he is supposed to be.

I need for this not to have happened, for him not to be hurt.

I need for him to be okay.

But he doesn't say any of this, stays silent, eyes trained on his son's prone form on the bed before him. And so she takes a step closer towards him, starts to repeat herself.

"Can I get you anything? Get him – " He doesn't even let her finish her question before he has answered her.

"His bear," he croaks, throat dry, voice hoarse. He turns slowly to face her, eyes so dark on her impossibly light ones. "I forgot to pick it up for him, when we left. I forgot – I – He needs his bear."

She nods, and reaches out to momentarily clasp her hand over his, over his little boy's. "Alright, I'll get his bear for him."

He nods wordlessly and turns back to watch over his son.

("He's so small," Elspeth marvels, watching over her little brother.

"So tiny," Katalina agrees in all her childlike wonder, her small hand splayed over the glass, head tilted to get a better look at the petite creature before them all.

"He's no bigger than his bear," Cosette harmonizes, her hand lying atop the incubator where her baby brother lies.

"We've named him Theodore," he tells his daughters, and they turn their heads to look up at him in perfect sync.

"Teddy," his eldest tells him then, a slow smile creeping up her face. "We should call him Teddy.")

-

His wife's phone is ringing, and she pointedly ignores the nurse who attempts a scowl her way as she steps into the corridor to answer it.

"Cosette, darling, calm down," he hears her tell their eldest. "I will be home soon."

"Teddy is going to be just fine," his wife continues; and he wishes he had her strength, her steadfast belief. "Your father is with him."

When she reenters the room, he turns his head to meet her gaze and she walks directly towards him, takes his hand in hers once again.

"You're leaving?" he asks, and can't help his voice piquing at the end.

Her fingers tighten around his, a sign of assurance, a measure of trust. "One of us should be with the girls right now," she tells him.

He nods, understanding; because he knows his daughters must be terrified. And he hadn't even stayed with them to make sure they were ok. But he couldn't. He couldn't, because he had to go with their little brother. He had to make sure he was ok first. It was a choice, one he had to make. Alone.

But now they're doing this, together. And it makes his heart rest that bit easier knowing his wife is carrying him as he is carrying her.

"And you need to be here with our son," she tells him, her eyes dark on his.

She moves forward, smoothes Teddy's hair away from his eyes, traces her fingers down his cheek and kisses him.

"Goodnight, my darling," she whispers to their son's sleeping form, and kisses him again.

When she stands tall once more, he is there to meet her. She opens her arms to accept him and he presses his forehead against her neck, his arms wound tightly around her waist.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs hoarsely against her collarbone.

She shakes her head, lifts his head away from her with her hands on either side of his face. "He'll be alright, Chuck. This wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't Nathaniel's either," he replies. "I should've been the one playing with him. I should've been watching him more carefully."

"I was too late," he tells her, and lifts his eyes to meet hers.

"Chuck, accident happen," she says to him with a heavy sigh. "The important thing is that our son is alive, that he's going to be okay."

"You heard what the doctor said," she continues, a small smile curving her words as they leave her lips. "He's a fighter."

She's smiling at him now, eyes glistening with more than just unshed tears, as she tells him, "He got that from his Daddy."

"No," he says, conviction in his words, in his eyes. "He got that from you."

She rolls her eyes at him; he always will insist their children's best traits come from her.

"Fine, he got that from both of us," she relents, and combs her fingers through his hair.

"We'll get through this, Chuck," she tells him; such promise in her words. "Together."

He closes his eyes and nods, rests his forehead against hers as he breathes her in. His arms tighten around her, and she moves her head to place it above the beating of his heart, her fingers outlining its existence beneath her touch.

"I love you, you know," she says to him, and peeks up to steal a glance at him.

"I know," he breathes out, and moves his gaze from their son to her.

"And you love me too," she answers him, almost teasingly, but there's an edge there too, because she won't let him forget that.

She reaches up to cup his face once more, drags her fingers across his temple till they reach the corner of his mouth, and then she kisses him.

"I love you too," he tells her, and she smiles as he dips his head to kiss her back.

-

The signet ring that he used to wear is attached to a chain that forever lingers around his youngest child's neck. It rests neatly just above his son's heart and rises and falls with each breath the little boy takes.

He smiles and leans down to place a kiss against Teddy's forehead, a hand on his son's cheek to hold him near as he revels in their closeness for a moment. He pulls back mere seconds later, breathing in the scent of childhood as he goes, and reaches round to unclasp the necklace. He carefully sets it down on the bedside table, his eyes momentarily mesmerized by the gold that falls between his fingers like sand in a desert.

Teddy is restless in his sleep, and when he places his hands on his son's shoulders, he visibly relaxes. He breathes a soft sigh of relief and tries to avert his gaze from the thick white bandage strapped to his son's neck, tries not to think about what it represents, what it could have meant if things hadn't ended up this way.

His little boy whimpers and he softly says his name. When this doesn't quell the boy's cries, he moves the covers, lies down on the bed next to him and holds him in his arms.

His son is lying on his back, and he curls into his side, wraps his arms around his small frame and feels a tiny fist clutching at the material of his shirt a few moments later.

He drops a kiss to his son's head and holds him tighter, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in, chasing his son's fears away.

-

When he wakes up, it is to his son's smiling face, delighted eyes staring into his own.

He shifts, lifts himself up, and blinks as he takes in their surroundings.

Stockings hang on the wall opposite his little boy's bed, a fourth suspended from the metal frame itself. There's a Christmas tree in the corner, its twinkling lights filling the space around them; with presents of all shapes and sizes, all colors and shades, spilling out from the space beneath. Wreaths hang around the window frame and across the walls, decorated with large bows.

He smiles, because this has his wife written all over it; with the touches that mark his daughters' influence accentuating the edges.

And, as if on cue, she enters their son's room with their three girls in tow.

They eagerly shout their brother's name, dashing into the room towards him, clambering onto the bed so they can sit next to him.

When Blair moves to greet her husband and son, she does so wholeheartedly. She wraps their little boy up in her arms and plants kisses all over his scratched skin, cupping his face in her hands so she can look deep into his eyes.

He smiles at her, and it's like she can breathe again, like he is the air that fills her lungs.

And then their son clears his throat and says, "Mommy, can we open the presents now," and she laughs; light and carefree, and he is happier than he would've thought possible.

She rubs his cheek with the pad of thumb and smiles down at him. Eyes the shade of polished mahogany, she nods, tears in her eyes, and tells him, "Yes, darling, you can open your presents now."

His delighted face turns to the matching ones of his sisters, and they scamper off the bed to dutifully lift his heavy stocking from the foot of the bed and present it to him. They then run to collect their own and bring it back to where he lies, now propped up with a series of pillows, so they can enjoy the moment together.

She places a hand on his cheek and kisses him sweetly, full on the mouth, whispering, "I missed you" against his lips with a soft sigh, as he murmurs, "Thank you" against hers.

And then she shifts, moves back to allow their son and daughters more room to explore their individual finds, discover what Father Christmas has been good enough to deliver to them for being such wonderful children to their ever-grateful parents.

His wife sits at the end of the bed, a hand affectionately placed on their youngest daughter's back, as she watches the progression of emotion fill the young faces of their children.

He hadn't thought about what it must have been like for her to go home to what he imagines must look like a scene from some horror movie; doesn't think about what his daughters and nephews must have felt having to breathe the same air as that which was soaked with the stench of their baby brother's blood.

But there were no red-stained crystals to greet his wife, no blood-splattered walls or crimson puddles to wet her feet. And for this, he is grateful. He knows she'll have nightmares enough without having had the scene laid out waiting for her to fill in the missing pieces.

"Daddy," his son says, tearing him away from his thoughts, with the excitement in his little boy's voice masking much of the raw aches that touch his own ears. "Isn't it amazing?"

"Father Christmas still found me," Teddy exclaims, pure joy lilting his words.

He considers his son at this; watches how his enthusiasm for the moment encompasses his entire being, sees how his eyes light up and the rest of his face follows suit; his skin aglow with the sheer thrill of the experience.

His eyes stream over their children to meet his wife's on the other side. She's doing that thing, where she smiles with her eyes.

_I love you_, she mouths to him.

He smiles, and says clearly, "I love you too."

_**  
TBC?**_

* * *

Thanks so much for reading, and please let me know what you think – it really does mean an awful lot to me!

Also, I have three other parts planned for this, so hopefully I can get them typed up and posted – at least two anyway

Steph  
xxx


	5. Christmas Miracle

A/N: Warning = slight swearing, with a few mentions of the f-word.

Dedicated to lordoftheunderworld - I know you asked for Eric/Blair, or just more Eric, and this isn't exactly a huge amount; but hopefully it'll suffice for now, while I try write some more ;)

* * *

I Never Believed In Christmas Miracles Until You Came Into My Life

.

It's complications complications _complications_, and hospital stay after hospital stay after hospital stay.

They have their own private doctor – the best in the country; best _out-with_ the country too. The woman had been reluctant to leave her other place of work, but money and power do funny things to people, and he finds they tend to accept what he offers.

He plans to employ at least one more; to go with the one they already have, as well as the team of nurses, handful of surgeons, and other specialists he has on his payroll.

All he's doing is preparing for any eventuality; it's sheer logic really. She should be on board with the idea, should be as demanding and pushy as he is to ensure they have all the necessary personnel available at their beck-and-call whenever and wherever they need them. Not that they can't use their influence over others if they need them, but the point is; this way, he's saving them that hassle. He's _being prepared._

He'd expect a little more gratitude, but no; raging hormones are all he receives.

Fucking wonderful.

He's 'donated' more to this hospital than he's invested in his latest business ventures; but he doesn't care, because this is so much more.

This is his future.

This is his family.

This is his _life._

More importantly, this is _their_ lives.

-

By the time the baby arrives, he surmises he'll likely own the whole hospital; control most of the staff in it too.

But he doesn't care, because _this is so much more._

This is complications complications _complications_; and why shouldn't he be able to provide his family with the best the country, nae the _world_, has to offer? And if they don't like it, fine, they'll be out of a job and no one will benefit from their so-called 'expertise'.

It's selfish and vindictive, but he doesn't give a damn.

When it comes to his family; his wife and his child; why should he have to compromise, why should he have to settle?

He shouldn't, and he won't.

They'll have the best, always.

And if they can't have the best, no one will have the 'best', and he'll find the person actually competent and deserving of such a title; because if they really were _the best_, they'd want to show their skills off to the world, want to showcase their talent through patient after patient after patient.

So, it bothers him not how many people he has to put out of a job; and he doesn't think of the hundreds, likely thousands, who could've benefited from their help. Because anyone willing to pass up such an offer, can only help benefit others so much anyway.

And there isn't going to _be_ a limit on the treatment they will be providing for his family.

Either way, he's going to give his wife and child the best.

He can't _not_.

Besides, it's not like he knows how to give anything less.

-

She's just thrown something at him, if her aim wasn't suffering due to her excessive tiredness – which is also his fault, by the way, because he made her this way: all big and tired and _pregnant_ – he's sure it would have cracked him right on the side of the head.

He narrows his eyes at her and she purses her lips in return, almost goading him to retaliate.

Instead, he simply bends down and picks the object up.

Scotch tape.

Well, that's just great.

More gift-wrapping for the baby, just what he needs. As if the first time wasn't enough.

("Darling," he smiles down at her, dropping a kiss to her hair. "You do realize that the baby's not due for a while yet."

"Of course I do," her sing-song reply comes, and she turns her head to give him a sweet smile, before returning her attention to the task at hand.

"And that she won't actually be able to unwrap these gifts," he continues, slowly; eyeing all the beautiful bright creations dotted around his wife on their bed, each one decorated with long threads of ribbon and large bows that coordinated with the color of the giftwrap.

"Especially with all that _ribbon_," he says, watching her as she works. "Given that she'll barely be a week old."

Her movements still and he senses the change immediately. Uh-oh.

She looks up at him, and fits him with a hard stare; she is not amused. "Do you mean to suggest that we simply provide nothing for our child on their first Christmas?"

"Is that what you're saying, Chuck?" she questions him readily, as if she's been itching for a fight all day.

Damn hormones.

"Or are you just implying that I am somehow not going to be a competent mother because I'm actually participating in the creation of something that could, in some way, be harmful to our child?" she demands to know what he means by his previous statement; he's not sure even he knows at this point.

"Or do you simply mean to tell me that you don't think my gift-wrapping is up to your standard expectations, and that I am a general failure in your eyes? And that when he _or_ she comes, I will be an unfit mother forced to sped my days locked within these walls under the constant supervision of nurses and doctors and _you_, Chuck?"

Say _what?_

He openly gawps at her at this, has to clear his throat before he speaks, cough to free himself from the lump that has been forming there.

He rolls his eyes at her; any answer he gives her will no doubt be wrong anyway. But he has to give it, because he loves her, and because the hormones have to be stemming from something. And he's never been a fan of insecure Blair.

"Keep the presents, after all they're part of Christmas and we can't have our child going without presents on their first Christmas," he says to her.

She doesn't look satisfied, and he can't blame her; he hasn't really given her much to quell her fears.

And he knows that's what they are; the hormones don't get that clever without at least some help.

"You're brilliant," he tells her and watches as she blinks up at him slowly.

"You're creative, and amazing, and quite possibly the most fascinating creature I've ever encountered; you'll be the best mother that's ever walked on this earth," he says to her, put quite simply; and then leans in close, knuckles resting on the bed, sinking deep into the mattress as they hold him up.

"And you know what else?" he breathes out: he's so close now their breathes mingle as one, their noses grazing, lips skimming; and he can see it in her eyes, she's mesmerized. And so is he.

"You'll always be so fucking gorgeous," he growls out, the blood pumping through his veins so raw and pure as he captures her mouth with his.

Her hands are instantly around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as she tugs him closer, moans into his mouth as his tongue battle against her own for domination, nips teasingly at his lower lip till he runs his tongue over hers with a smirk.

"You're a goddess, Blair," he tells her then, breathing ragged; with her fingers still buried in his hair, her eyes burrowing into his, and his hands having found their way under her top to rest on either side of her swollen stomach.

"A goddess," he breathes out again and presses a kiss to her lips; allows the promise to linger there a moment. "And that's never going to change."

The imprint of her smile against his own, and the urgency with which her tiny hands move down to the nape of his neck, begin to tug impatiently at the collar of his shirt; well, it's enough to make him that little bit grateful for the hormones. After all, they make her horny as f– )

.

"Would you talk to him? Please?" she turns and asks of his younger brother. "He's acting like a complete and utter crazy person."

Eric smiles in that mildly amused way that he tends to do when their dynamics involve him like this, and he gives him a look that retorts a _so what?_ to his wife's statement; along with a raised eyebrow that gestures to the female currently occupying the hospital bed and reads _and she's not?_

He doesn't care anyway.

It's his child dammit, and he is well aware of what can happen if every precaution isn't taken. And even then, he's living proof that money doesn't always equal security.

So he'll make sure _his_ money affords them _extra_ security – hospital boards and litigations be damned.

And he'll bring a Christmas tree into his wife's room if he fucking well wants.

He tells as much to the nurse.

That's possibly the reason why she's so annoyed. Well, she might have a point there.

He should maybe apologise to the woman.

Or he could just give her a tidy sum and tell her it's a _Christmas bonus_.

That's what the common-folk look forward to at this time of year, isn't it? Holiday bonuses? Well, he'll find out soon enough.

And by doing that, the woman might be more appeasing to his ways in future. So really it's a win-win for all.

He doesn't spend too much time convincing himself of this notion; he's a selfish being, and to be honest he could care less about the woman so long as she looks after his wife and unborn child to the highest standard possible.

It always comes back to them; but they're his family, what do they expect? Of course he'll give anything for them. They're what he's always wanted.

-

At ten minutes past nine on the morning of 11th of December 2013, he officially becomes a father to a beautiful baby girl.

Cosette Cornelia Bass arrives exactly two weeks before Christmas and she's the best Christmas present he could've asked for; even if she is ten days early, and nearly gave him a few heart-attacks along the way.

She opens her eyes wide to take in the world, but the world around her only has eyes for her.

He craves her: her skin so smooth beneath his touch, he's enchanted by her eyes, by the roundness of her nose, the curve of her lips. Everything about her has him captivated.

"Chuck," his wife's voice reaches his ears. "Give her to Eric to hold."

His brother arms are outstretched, ready and eager to hold his little niece for the first time; but he simply eyes the younger like a suspicious stranger that is approaching him in the street.

"Oh my God, Chuck," she laughs and it's the music to his life's beginnings. "You have to let go of her eventually."

He turns away from his brother, who is pouting at him and giving him those puppy-dog eyes. But it won't work, dammit, because she is his; and he's never letting go, because she's his and his alone.

Ok, so maybe he'll have to relinquish his hold on her for Blair, but that's it, no one else.

"You know it's only going to get worse when Serena gets here," she reminds him, and he releases a low growl, turning round to face them once more.

He narrows his eyes at his little brother, surveys him carefully, and then ever so slowly, _ever so slowly_, he places his daughter in her Uncle's arms.

"Make sure you hold her head up," he tells Eric immediately. "You have to support her neck. Don't let her flop like that."

"You know what – " and before his brother can protest, he's lifted his baby girl out of the other's arms and placed her safely back in his.

"Can't even trust you to hold her for one minute, Eric," he lectures the younger. "How'd you ever expect me to sign off on you to provide babysitting duties?"

"But you didn't even let me – " his brother starts to protest.

"You nearly dropped her!" is his exclamation at that.

"What?" Eric's eyes go wide, and he pointedly ignores the laughter coming from his wife's direction.

"You know what I'm talking about," he murmurs in response to that, and starts to rock the little girl in his arms, striding over to the Christmas tree to show off the sparkling lights and colourful baubles to her.

And it is then that his sister and brother decide to storm their once-calm room as well.

They burst in with matching smiles that reach the brim of their faces, calling out congratulations and holding out gift bags and balloons to his wife.

And then his sister steps towards him, her stance imitating the one their brother took on mere moments prior; and she's tilting her head to the side, trying to get a better look at his daughter as she asks, "Can I hold her, Chuck?"

She looks so giddy, so excited, her eyes dancing with overflowing energy; and he watches it all come crashing down with his simple reply of, "No."

"What?" Serena asks, her face a picture of confusion. "But why not?"

"After the incompetence our brother just showcased mere moments ago, you should count yourself lucky I'm even letting you in the same room as my daughter – after all, you share his DNA, your actions could be as unpredictable as his," he tells her, and manoeuvres his little girl so she is shielded from her Aunt's grief-stricken face.

"Eric nearly dropped her on the floor!" he speaks with such horror, he fears his voice might break. "Who knows what you'd do? For all I know you'd try pass her to Nate like she's a football or something."

"No," he speaks resolutely. "No, you're not holding my daughter."

"Not until I trust you won't do her permanent damage with your reckless actions," he says, and he's speaking to them all now.

"Alright," his sister concedes, a raised eyebrow, a smile on her face. "What would you suggest?"

"How about a baby simulator for each of you?" he proposes. "I'm sure I can have them custom-made and delivered in time for Christmas."

"Christmas!" the three shout at him at once.

"Hey! Hey! Volume control!" he returns, holding his hand over his daughter's ear, the one that is susceptible to their loud voices and not the one pressed against his chest, listening rather contentedly, it seems, to the sound of his heartbeat.

"Don't mind him," his wife's amused voice joins in then. "He's just gone into protective-Daddy mode."

And then in a lower tone; even lower because he has turned his back to them all once again, as he stands in front of the Christmas tree, his newborn daughter held close in his arms; Blair tells them, "I'll let you hold her when he leaves."

"Like Hell you will," he retorts to that, and throws a glance over his shoulder to fit them all with a hard look. "I'm not leaving my baby girl with you lot anytime soon, that's for sure."

His wife laughs. "That's fine," she tells him. "But if she repeats any _bad_ words, I'll know who's responsible – and he won't be getting any for quite some time."

She raising an eyebrow at him, looking entirely entertained by the whole thing, and he just sends her a smirk back.

That's fine with him: because his daughter will be too good to repeat any _bad_ words he might utter in her vicinity (she'll be so like her mother); and when his wife holds their baby girl in her arms once more she'll remember just how she came to be, and decide that s-e-x is a necessity that can never be banned from their lives if they want to produce more perfect little darlings like Cosette.

His smirk widens: best Christmas present indeed; she's just ensured he'll be getting more in the future.

**_  
TBC…_**

* * *

A/N: there should be two more parts to come, but there might only be one - it depends what my muse decides to batter me with at 3am again ;)

Thanks so much for reading, and please let me know what you think – it means so much to me!  
Steph  
xxx


	6. Christmas Breaks

A/N: apologies for the delay, my muse decided I should concentrate my efforts on some other fics for the moment – but I finally managed to crank this part out of it.  
This is almost a throwback to the original chapter; it's set during the same day as (the end of) Part One.  
Last instalment – hope you enjoy it :)

* * *

Christmas Breaks With The Bass Family Are Always Beyond Words

He's walking hand in hand with his little girl as she skips delightedly by his side; eager to reach the carousel she's been desperate to go on all morning. The fact that she'd received a stunning masterpiece from _Father Christmas_ mere hours prior, crafted specifically in its honor, only served to heighten his nine-year-old's unrest.

(She'd been bouncing on her seat so much as they rode in the horse-drawn carriage (_it's __**tradition, **__Daddy_) that his wife had to lay her hand on their daughter's leg to quell the movement. Her sisters has smirked knowingly to each other, making a point to try and drag out the ride for as long a possible in that teasing way they were prone to adopting around the younger. And while their daughters involved themselves in their sibling games, their little boy was quite content to simply sit on his father's lap and take in the sights and sounds of the winter air that surrounded them. Teddy was mesmerized by it all, eyes wide and mouth open as he breathed out a quiet _wow_, it was such a precious sight that he caught his sister capturing the moment with a photo; a fond expression curving her lips and softening the edges around her eyes.)

His wife and sister are just in front, arms linked with one another in a mirror image of his two eldest daughters who are striding along next to them; matching smiles lighting up all their faces.

His brother is on his other side, eyes on their three boys bounding along the path with bursts of energy just ahead of them.

He smiles as his daughter's small hand, wrapped tightly in cream cashmere; tugs on his leather bound one. He looks down at her and sees her arm outstretched; her eyes transfixed, glistening like the snow in the early morning sun, face bright with untold joy; as she points ahead to the carousel, housed within the red brick that stands proud and tall before them all.

And then she turns her head and lifts her gaze to meet his, and he knows she's silently asking if she can go. He smirks, nods his head in consent of her request; before he can even blink, she's torn her hand from his grasp and is sprinting towards the building just ahead of them.

"What is she – ?" His wife questions suddenly, eyes snapping to his; face aghast as she exclaims, "Chuck!"

He knows what she's referring to: it is icy and their daughter could fall; but Katalina seems to have a wonderful habit of being able to land on her feet. Kitty, he smirks; it's quite the appropriate moniker for their little girl.

Just as the thought travels across his mind, he watches as she skids on the frozen path, arms outstretched to steady herself as she skates along in her black 'ballerinas', coming to a halt a short while away. He watches her take in a breath – letting out a slight _that was close!_ – before lifting her head and throwing a grin their way. And then she turns and scampers across the short distance till she reaches the carousel, the near-miss seemingly already forgotten in her young mind.

He chuckles at their daughter's antics, and directs his smirk to his wife when she fits him with a glare. Then suddenly there's a squeal and a _Serena!_ and a thud and he catches his wife before she can suffer the same fate as his sister and end up in a heap on the cold ground of Central Park.

All aggravation is forgotten – mock or otherwise – when his wife twists her hands around the arms at her waist and settles in against his chest.

"Caught you," he murmurs and smirks against the shell of her ear as she nuzzles in close to him as if on instinct.

"My hero," Blair whispers back, head turned slightly so she can look into his eyes; and he wonders if she's interpreting the _you're so f-ing hot, I could ravage you right now_ look he's currently giving her.

It only ever takes a second; the barest of glances, the mere lingering of her perfume, a glimpse of her disappearing form; once he's caught onto her presence, he's captivated.

She's smirking, leaning back even closer against him, falling further into his embrace as he tightens his hold on her; and then his sister decides to ruin the moment and cry out to them for their attention.

He rolls his eyes and drags his gaze down to the blonde who is currently struggling to stand up, huffing as her own husband tries to aid her in her endeavor. Clearly he's failing.

"Children," he calls across to them, amusement lilting his words. "Help your dear Aunt up, will you? She's having some trouble. You know the cold air isn't good for her old bones."

"Chuck!" she exclaims, becoming even more frustrated as he laughs swatting away her husband's hand when she finally begins to regain her footing with the help of his daughter's successful hand.

Their eldest steadies the blonde with the help of her own sister and their son dashes across that moment too late; he recognizes the brief smirk that flashes across their little boy's face the second before he becomes the picture of innocence as he inquires as to his Aunt's state.

His sister fits him with a scowl after she's finished brushing the snow from her attire.

"Hey, Chuck, man," his best friend addresses him, shaking his head with a face so sober it just makes him laugh more. "Not cool."

He's standing behind Blair, his arms wrapped around her waist as he pouts playfully at the blonde from where his chin rests on his wife's shoulder.

"Oh come on, sis," he tells her jovially, eyes glinting with mischief. "It's Christmas."

He hears their children resume their animated chatter, catches them from the corner of his eye as they begin to walk towards the carousel once more; their initial destination.

He plants a kiss on his wife's cheek and then turns them round as he loops his arm across her shoulders, their fingers entwining as they walk stride-for-stride together after their children.

-

Colt falls from his horse and gives himself a black eye before they've even managed three complete circles. He's laughing more at the irony than the act itself, but one look from his brother quiets him; Nate is not amused. His nephew is though, and he laughs along with his Uncle as his father and mother fuss over him.

The girls are not amused either.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Colt," his eldest remarks when their _rider_ has not resumed his position after the second turn. "You've sustained worse playing lax. Now get back on here and be our chariot master."

Her youngest sister giggles from her place astride her own horse – _I want one just like this one, Daddy_ – while her counterpart completes the moment by raising her eyebrow expectedly at their cousin.

He chases after them before they can curve from his sight and leaps onto the horse with animated gusto, twisting his head to send the girl he's never been able to deny a smirk and a wink.

Elspeth rolls her eyes, but smiles at him as she remarks wryly, "Giddy up."

The younger swirls his arm high above his head and pretends to lasso her in, and she plays along dutifully; because there's a few years age difference between them, and he's still a little boy really, and besides she's never been able to deny him anything either. The laughter of his daughter plays like background music to the smiles he captures all around him; signs that his children are happy, signs that his life is a wonderful one at that.

Cosette resumes her role as Queen, resting her arm on the ledge and languidly waving to them all as they pass by. It's a contrast to her youngest sister, who is waving excitedly, pure glee emanating from her very core, each time she reaches their line of sight.

Teddy and Ethan are mock fighting on opposing horses as the merry-go-round goes round and round, causing their mothers untold worry as they stretch themselves forwards then throw their tiny bodies backwards in a series of uncalculated, and therefore _dangerous_, moves.

He smirks deliciously down at his wife, eyes dancing like the devil that still harbors within him during moments like this; and in one swift movement he scoops her up in his arms and carries her over to where the other chariot lies empty.

When the carousel starts moving again, he dips his head and kisses her.

Despite her previous protests, she smiles against his lips, sighs contentedly into his mouth as she relaxes her body against his.

He smiles, the mark of their happiness imprinting on her skin; because he could get used to this.

-

He's sitting on the bench with his sister, watching their youngest play soccer while her husband plays catch with her oldest and his new lax stick; and his wife entertains their daughters on the ice-rink.

His sister runs over to join her future lacrosse-star and his attention is momentarily diverted by a family nearby. The woman has a wide smile on her face as the man lifts the lively little child above his head. As the child giggles loudly at the action, wriggling around with unabashed delight in the man's arms, a smile curves his lips; it reminds him of many a time in his own life.

(His wife watches from the sofa nearby, cradling their baby boy in her arms, held close against her chest. She's smiling as he lifts Katalina, to her delighted cries of "Daddy! Daddy!"

The five-year-old is giggling away along with her sisters as he hoists her up high in the air, his arms holding strong to her petite form as she begins to strategically place the decorations on the tree once again.

And he can't help how his smile widens at the picture of her methodically picking each bauble in turn from where the ribbon is looped around her tiny fingers, tongue poking out as concentration furrows her brow. It's an adorable sight.

He dips his gaze to look down at his two little girls who are standing at the base of the tree. Cosette is much like her youngest sister in that perfection of appearance matters most, represented by her own attentiveness of the task at hand. Elspeth has more of her Aunt Serena's influence in her, but she's still very much her mother's daughter. It's an amusing concoction that allows her to twirl around like a prim and proper ballerina, but with the grace and fluidity of a natural dancer so that every so often she will pause in her step ever-so-slightly to place a decoration of her own on the branches that reach out to her.

When their daughter announces that she has completed the task at hand, he gently returns her to her normal level; waiting till her feet have pressed solidly to the floor before releasing her from his hold.

He looks across to his wife for her approval, as their daughters each take a step back to survey their work.

She smiles at him, and then drops her gaze to direct her joy to their daughters.

"Perfection," Blair tells them, eyes bright; and as his dark gaze falls across his family, he agrees with his wife's assessment in a heartbeat.

There is but one thing left to do, and he smiles down at their girls as the idea comes to him.

"Why don't we let Teddy provide the finishing touch?" he suggests; feels his wife's eyes burning into him because he knows as well as she does that he's not just referring to the stunning success that stands before them in all its decorated glory; he's talking about their family.

They seem to take a moment to mull this idea over, eyes moving slowly from their father to the tree to their little brother and back to the tree again. In short succession, they all nod their agreement; and when he smiles, they smile too.

He cradles their little boy in his arms for a moment, taking the last adornment and places it in his youngest child's hands; watches in fond amusement as Teddy squints at it, and turns it over in his grasp, still staring at it with his little brown eyes before turning that gaze up towards his father. He could almost _swear_ their son just raised his eyebrow at him.

He chuckles as he lifts their son in much the same way as he did their daughter, placing his own hand over his little boy's and together slotting the final piece into place.

His wife has a hand resting on their daughters' shoulders as the trio look up at their Christmas tree; and he takes his place beside her, holding Teddy against his chest with one arm and draping the other across her shoulders.

Blair tilts her head up to look at him and he smiles down at her, pulling her in towards him and affectionately kissing her temple, curving his lips to the words as he murmurs, "Perfection.")

When he refocuses all his attention on his son; Teddy is full of vigor as he kicks the soccer ball across the frosted grass, Ethan chasing after him in an attempt to steal the ball away.

He sees it happen; and it's so gut-wrenching it's almost on par with the moment Teddy went flying through the glass pane in the door and ended up in a pool of his own blood on their marble floor.

They both fall instantly to the ground, and for a moment he can pretend it didn't really happen, that he imagined it. But then he hears the scream, the cries that make his blood run cold; and he knows this is as real as it gets.

-

He's no sooner reached the pair, dropping to his knees to try and assess the damage on both sides, when he hears his sister scream. He whips round to see the blonde already collapsed on the cold ground, clutching tightly to her shoulder, face tight with pain.

He sighs, because sure Christmas Day is meant to be memorable; but it's not supposed to be _this_ memorable.

His son's cries have slid to a whimper, when his phone vibrates in his pocket, and he maneuvers his little boy in his arms to answer his wife; only it's not Blair on the other end of the line, it's his daughter.

"Daddy, you have to come to the ice-rink," Elspeth tells him simply; always directly to the point like it's an inherited trait.

"I can't, sweetheart," he replies; juggling his son so he is leaning on the other leg, back against his chest to support him.

"No, Daddy, you don't understand," his daughter says to that. "You _really_ need to come to the ice-rink."

"Elle – " he starts, but stops when his wife's strangled voice comes through the line.

"Charles Bass, if you don't get your ass over here within the next five minutes I swear to _God _– "

She doesn't get any further in her rant, because he cuts her off, "Darling?" he questions. "Can you make out the noise behind me? That is the combined efforts of your nephew, son and sister to get us to spend as long as possible in the hospital today."

"Ooh, what's happened on your end?" Elspeth queries at that, voice laced with amused intrigue.

"What do you mean 'my end'?" his brow furrows, and he squeezes his son's hand when Teddy clasps it ever tighter. "What's happened at _your end_?"

"Oh, you know, the usual fun things," his teenage daughter responds. "Kitty showing us her _wonderful_ ice-skating skills, Etty displaying her usual impeccable ability to stay upright. Blood, guts, gore."

Ok, so maybe she had a bit of the flare for the dramatics.

"Elle," he prompts and hears his wife do the same.

"Someone knocked into Cosette, she fell over – Mom thinks she's broken her arm – Kitty didn't notice, was too close when she came out of her pirouette, sliced Cosette's arm, which put her off balance and she fell over and knocked herself out," Elspeth informs him. "Etty's bleeding all over the place and Mom's convinced that she'll contract some disease or other if she doesn't get her out of here soon. Oh, and she's worried Kitty has brain damage from the fall."

"Like I said," his teenager finishes, and he can just tell she has a smirk on her face as she says, "You need to come to the ice-rink."

He swallows a low growl, before catching sight of paramedics approaching them, and sending a grateful look to his brother who is looking incredibly flustered as he dots between his wife and youngest son.

"Tell your mother I'll meet her at the hospital," he says to his daughter, which naturally captures her interest once more.

"Why? What's happened?" she questions.

"Ethan caught Teddy in a tackle, and his leg is snapped in half and Ethan's wrist looks to be broken as well," he tells his daughter, breathing out a deep sigh. "Oh and your Aunt got in the way of a pass so to avoid getting hit by your Uncle or cousin she threw herself on the ground and is now clutching her shoulder like she's broken _it_."

"Ok," his daughter laughs and he hears his wife reprimanding her in the background, _this is not a laughing matter, Elspeth! Show a bit more respect to your siblings and don't laugh at their misfortune._

Elspeth scoffs at this, naturally, "Right."

He imagines she's rolling her eyes as well as she laughingly tells him, "Merry Christmas, Dad."

-

They've been in the hospital long enough that the children, and adult, are now settled in beds of their own, in a room that accommodates all of them; money does wonders in ensuring you get what you want, as does having more than three wings in the hospital named in your family's honor. It's times like these he really loves being rich, _really_ loves being rich.

His wife is still convinced they all need some form of treatment, though, and with the list they've racked up in the short space of time, he can't honestly blame her.

Teddy has broken both the bones in his leg; Ethan has fractured his wrist; Serena has broken her collarbone; Cosette has broken her arm and needed stitches to close the cut on her forearm also; and Katalina has a concussion.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were in shock," he hears his wife says to their daughter as he enters the room.

The thirteen-year-old is sitting quite contentedly flicking through a magazine by her older sister's bedside, occasionally lifting a page to show the elder and comment on whatever is present there.

"Please, Mom, _Kitty_ was the one in shock. She gave herself a concussion she was so _shocked_," comes the typically teenage response.

"Yes, well," his wife replies, "You should just be grateful you have a little sister who cares so much for your well-being."

"I'm grateful to have a little sister who hasn't had a major growth spurt yet or I'd be writhing on the ground with a sliced neck," Elspeth quips, and sends a smirk at Cosette who is lying on the hospital bed nursing her arm to her chest.

Blair rolls her eyes, but smiles at their daughter, draping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, "Always with the dramatics, Elle."

"Well, I've got to live up to the parents somehow," their thirteen-year-old remarks, an all-too-familiar smirk gracing her lips as she tilts her head up to meet her mother's eyes.

His wife sighs as she presses a kiss to their daughter's hair, looking over her head to their youngest daughter who is lying asleep in the bed next to her sister.

She had a CT scan and the doctor says she's in the clear; but his wife told him how utterly terrified Kitty was going into that 'machine' and he's poured more than enough money into this hospital to obtain something with more sustenance than just one man's word as his assurances for his daughter's health. So, Katalina occupies the bed next to her older sister under strict observation by the medical staff.

Teddy is in the bed opposite, his cousin next to him, and his Aunt next to his cousin. Nate is on the armchair between his wife and youngest son, while Colt (after having had his eyes checked out and his brain scanned as well – just incase there was any swelling or anything) occupies the chair next to Elspeth; because apparently she's more entertaining than the three dozing people he's related to (he's almost certain the boy said _dozy_, because he'd catch his daughter's smirk anywhere, but he doesn't call him on it; merely smirks himself).

Eric, apparently he'd been called en route and was instructed to be at the hospital by the time they all were, because this was a _family emergency_ of the utmost importance; is lounging in the chair by their sister's bedside. He can only imagine the fear his younger brother must have been feeling before the whole situation was explained to him; calmly and rationally, rather than in his teenage daughter's overzealous, charming way.

His wife cuddles into bed with their youngest daughter, and he smiles at the image. He knows that Elspeth will end up sharing the bed with her sister, because that's just how they are. And if his girls aren't in the mood for teasing their cousin and being 'cruel' and sending him off to find another place to sleep, he'll end up squashed in the bed alongside them. He suspects Elspeth will be the one to fold first; she has an unusually large soft spot for the younger boy that Cosette doesn't seem to quite share; and yet it isn't his eldest who is regarded as possessing the coolest demeanor of his children. They make for an intriguing, but oh so entertaining, mix; and he wouldn't change them for the world.

His little boy blinks open his eyes and calls out to him, "Daddy."

He turns at the sound of his son's voice and smiles across at the younger as he makes his way across to where he is.

"You're supposed to be asleep, little man," he chastises lightly, readjusting the blanket to tuck his little boy in properly again.

"I couldn't sleep," Teddy tells him, and looks up at him with those impossibly brown eyes.

"Tell me a story?" he requests, face lighting up with the presence of the smallest of smiles.

He rolls his eyes, because he could never say no to those eyes. His baby boy is far too like his mother.

"Alright," he agrees, and then lightly nudges his son. "Move over, and I'll tell you a story."

A grin flashes across his son's face as he shifts across to accommodate him. He drapes the blanket across both of them this time and lifts his arm to allow Teddy to nestle into his side.

He smiles down at his little boy, his eyelids already drooping, and begins to tell the tale.

"Once upon a time, there was a little boy called Teddy," he begins, and feels his son's smile against his chest.

"That's my name," Teddy says sleepily.

The smile curves his lips as he continues; "Teddy liked to spend Christmas Day with his family. But _this year_, Teddy decided to take his family on an adventure."

"Was it a good adventure?" His precocious nature never fails to shine through during _story time_.

"Well, we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?" he replies teasingly.

"You don't have to wait, Daddy, you already know what the adventure is," his son tells him, and smiles toothily up at him.

"Yes, but I wouldn't want to ruin the story by telling you about it too early, now would I?" he says in return.

"No, you wouldn't," Teddy answers, shaking his head in all his childhood innocence. "That wouldn't be a very good story if you did that."

"No," he chuckles in agreements, "it wouldn't."

"Now where were we?" he says to his boy with a grin.

"Teddy had just decided to take his family on an adventure," Elspeth fills in for him from across the room.

He looks over and sees her smiling back at him, "That's right."

"But we don't know if it's a good one or not," Teddy's small voice adds.

"With Teddy, adventures are always good," Colt tells him, and he watches as his son's smile presses against his chest, his eyes already closed.

"Uh-uh, adventures with Teddy are always _great_," Cosette corrects, winking at her father as he smiles between his little boy and his girls.

"Brilliant!" Kitty calls out with a wide smile, startling her mother who was lying quite peacefully next to her.

"Awesome!" Ethan shouts from his place next to his cousin.

"Out of this world," Nate joins in at that, grinning at him like only his best friend (brother) can.

"Unparalleled," Eric says, a smile tweaking at his lips; and he shares an amused look with his younger brother.

"_Fan-tab-mulous_!" his sister exclaims, not to be outdone, as she beams at them.

"Perfect," his wife breathes out after the comfortable silence has settled over them.

He meets her eyes over their sleeping son and there's so much love and pride emanating from her, towards every one of them, he can't help but wonder how he ever got so lucky not only to be able to call Blair Waldorf his wife; but the mother of his children as well.

She smiles at him, because she always knows what he's thinking and tells him across the space, "I love you."

"I love you too," he replies, without hesitation, and he's looking at them all now: his sister and brothers, his daughters and son, his wife.

Because he really does love them all; couldn't think of better people to surround himself with, couldn't think of a better family to be able to call his, couldn't think of better company or a better present at Christmas.

It's Christmas Day, and he's spending it in hospital with his family. But it doesn't matter, because they're all safe and they're all healthy (well, as healthy as they can be given their predilection for the place) and they're all happy.

There was a time when he only used to care about three things.

Now all he cares about is his family.

He can't think of anything better to entertain the thoughts of his heart or mind.

.

("Daddy, what's that on your shirt?"

He looks down at the red that stains his top; the bloody handprint his little boy left there barely visible beneath the crimson that marks the place where his heart lies.

"Is that – ?" he squints at the material, wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Is that my blood?"

"Ew, Dad!" his son exclaims at that. "We're going to have to get you a new shirt before Christmas Dinner or Mommy'll be mad that you can't even dress properly for the occasion. And Kitty will call it a fashion disaster and insist on dressing you for the next week – and Etty will look at it like it's the most horrible thing she's ever seen and claim she can't eat dinner because you've made her lose her appetite – and Elle will make a funny comment that'll make Mom tell her not to be so smart and to try act less like you – and it'll just be _crazy!_"

He smirks as his eyes meet his five-year-old's, "You've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?"

"Nope," his son grins and looks up at him with bright eyes. "I just know our family _really well_."

He chuckles and affectionately ruffles his son's hair, "You're observant like your mother."

"Nope," Teddy tells him, a smirk crinkling his lips. "I just knows lots of stuff, like my Daddy.")

**_  
The End._**

* * *

A/N: the last part – in brackets – was a throwback to Part Four. A snippet of a conversation between Chuck and Teddy after Teddy was in hospital having fallen through the glass window/door ;)

Thank you to all who read, reviewed, alerted and/or favourited – it means the world to me to know you liked my fic enough to take the time to do so  
I've taken a particular liking to the characters in this, so I may just have to expand this into another fic, but we shall see ;)  
Hope you enjoyed the ride – until the next one…

Steph  
xxx


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